


In which Crowley is Lady Godiva

by stormsonjupiter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6, 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Also the beginning of the arrangement, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has All the Genders (Good Omens), Crowley is a woman some of the time, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Genderfluid Character, Gratuitous Smut, Happy Ending, I tried to make it fluffy but there is a little angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Spouses, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Nuns, Lesbian Sex, Married Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Naked Female Clothed Male, Naked horseback riding scene, Not Beta Read, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, Other, Pansexual Character, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, The Arrangement (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, lady godiva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 03:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20959637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormsonjupiter/pseuds/stormsonjupiter
Summary: Crowley switches places with Lady Godiva before her wedding to the Earl of Mercia, only to find out that the Earl is a familiar angel. Tensions rise, ending with the famous naked ride through the town of Coventry.This work was inspired by the lyrics in Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now."





	In which Crowley is Lady Godiva

**Author's Note:**

> BEFORE READING:
> 
> Crowley in this story is genderfluid, so in present-day London he is a man (with whichever genitalia you prefer), whereas in the 11th century she is a woman with a vulva. 
> 
> Crowley also does have a sexual relationship with Lady Godiva, which is described in explicit detail.
> 
> Also....implied lesbian nuns (let me assure you they're definitely lesbians), so if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read.
> 
> Also, I did do a little research on the time period and the clothes, but I assume there are anachronisms. I hope they don't detract from the story, it's supposed to be fun and not super historical.

(London, Sometime after the Apocalypse)

“I’m a racing car, passing by, Like Lady Godiva--”

Freddie Mercury’s voice rings through the Bentley’s speakers as Crowley swerves down the busy London roads. He is on his way to Aziraphale’s bookshop, a bouquet of roses jostling around on the seat next to him. 

The line of the Queen song makes him smile, and he begins to reminisce about his time back in the eleventh century, when he was Lady Godiva…

…

(Some very damp place in England, the 11th century)

Lady Godiva shuddered and exhaled with ragged breath, the deft fingers of Lady Crowley having gently worked her into a satisfying climax. 

“There we are, my dear,” Crowley cooed once Godiva’s legs stopped shaking. Crowley slid her middle and index finger out of the slick folds, and gently stroked the labia before she removed her hand from the area completely. She wiped her fingers off on the thick wool blanket that covered the two of them, and then brought the hand up to stroke Godiva’s icy blonde tendrils.

“Thank you Lady Crowley,” Godiva murmured as she blinked her eyes open and smiled at her Lady’s maid. “You always take such good care of me.” She looked directly into Godiva’s eyes, not fearing their snakelike pupil and yellow hue (thanks to a little bit of imaginative storytelling on Crowley’s part about some kind of fever and cure gone wrong). Lady Crowley had thought about fashioning some lenses like the ones worn in Rome, but had found that covering her hair and at least part of her face with veils was enough to let people leave her alone. Women often covered their faces with fabric in these days, to hide scars from ailments and injury, so Crowley was able to fit right in. 

“Of course,” Crowley murmured as she lowered her head to give Godiva a soft kiss, letting their lips brush together with tenderness until Godiva let out a gentle moan. 

Crowley pulled away, still stroking Godiva’s hair and gazing into her pale blue eyes. 

Lady Godiva wasn’t Aziraphale, of course, but there were remarkable similarities of feature—the curly white-hot hair, the eyes that changed from pale green to blue, the soft curves of the stomach and thick thighs. Crowley usually did not enjoy it when Hell’s assignments included seduction, but this particular temptation was proving to be very satisfying for the demon, and she suspected it was because Lady Godiva reminded her of the angel.

“You promise you’ll stay with me, Lady Crowley?” Godiva asked with slight worry. “I can’t bear the thought of being married again—even to someone as wealthy and kind as my father claims the Earl of Mercia is. But if you come with me.…” her voice trailed off.

“Of course, dearie,” Crowley reassured softly.

Godiva sighed contentedly, and lifted a hand to delicately trace Crowley’s lips, which curled up into a wry smile. She then trailed her fingers Crowley’s jaw and neck, continuing her soft caress downward until her hand ended up cupping the small, rounded flesh of Crowley’s breast. Godiva then began rubbing her thumb gently over the nipple until it became hard.

This temptation had been much easier than Crowley anticipated, and it had the added bonus of letting the demon wear a cunt (which, as it turned out, Lady Godiva greatly enjoyed). Crowley had entered Godiva’s services about six months earlier, tasked with convincing the golden-locked lady not to marry the Earl of Mercia and instead run away and join a convent. Crowley was then to take her place as the Earl of Mercia’s wife, and somehow cause a local uprising (“By Any Means Necessary, Crowley, Including Sex” the memo stated). Crowley had first intended to whisper doubt into her ear, and tempt Godiva with a life unbound by the confines of marriage to a strange gentleman. The demon was delighted, however, to realize that Lady Godiva was already disinclined to marry—and not only because it was to a stranger for political alliances, but because it was to a man. Lady Godiva’s sexual and romantic preferences clearly leaned in another direction, and only in another direction. 

Ignoring the thumb on her nipple which was now kindling a small fire inside of Crowley, the demon mustered as stern a look as possible, and said, “Now, I want you to be absolutely ready for tomorrow. We have a long journey, so I think you had better rest now.”

“I couldn’t possibly rest now. There’s too much to think about,” Godiva replied, furrowing her brow in anxiety and biting her lip in the most delicious way, and removing her hand from Crowley’s breast.

“Then I suppose my job isn't done yet,” Crowley replied promptly, and the demon slid herself down in between Godiva’s legs and kissed her inner thighs.

“Oh!” Godiva gasped, as Crowley began to lick, the demonic tongue slithering from the inner thigh up to her slit, was still wet with the previous exploits. She lapped delicately at the labia with the tip of her tongue, and at each soft lick Godiva moaned. Crowley kept teasing her for a minute, noting that the wetness was increasing, until Godiva curled her fingers gently into Crowley’s long red hair, dragging her nails across the demon’s scalp. Crowley then swirled her tongue towards Godiva’s hot center, dipping inside as deeply as she could while sliding her arms up and around Godiva’s thighs.

After several deep licks Godiva moaned Crowley’s name, at which sound Crowley glided her tongue out and up the slit to Godiva’s clit, where she worked in gentle circles. Crowley uncurled one arm from one of Godiva’s thighs, and slid her fingers back inside, working in and out and curving slightly until she hit the bundle of nerves that made Godiva gasp. The blonde’s thighs squeezed tightly against Crowley’s head in response, and juices began to flow freely. Crowley worked the spot, sliding her fingers in and out, while continuing the swirling machinations of her tongue until finally Godiva shuddered and let out a stifled moan, her hips bucking uncontrollably. 

…

The next morning Lady Godiva and Lady Crowley set out with a group of two foot soldiers, one knight, and his squire. The journey itself would take two days (as long as the weather stayed calm). The convent Crowley was supposed to convince Lady Godiva to remain at permanently was a little ways off of the road, about halfway along their journey, and Crowley thought of various ways she might entice the party to seek shelter there. 

Fortunately for Crowley, it began to rain. It started as a light drizzle, but soon lightening and thunder accompanied torrential downpours. There was no shelter from the water, which soaked everyone outside the carriage to the bone, and the mud made it difficult for the carriage that was carrying the ladies to move, until finally, one wheel became completely stuck.

The knight and foot soldiers tried to make the wheel budge but thanks to a little demonic intervention, the carriage was going nowhere. 

“What would you suggest we do, my Lady?” The knight asked. “You can stay in the carriage for shelter if you like, and we can try to set up a camp.”

“If I may,” Crowley interjected. “There is a convent not far from here, over that hill. I am sure they would be happy to house the Lady until this storm passes.” Crowley looked at Godiva for approval.

“Yes, Lady Crowley, that sounds like the best plan. Though I do not welcome the thought of how wet we will get along the way,” Godiva said. 

Crowley smiled. ‘Yes, Godiva,’ the demon thought, ‘You will get very, very wet.’

…

The journey took a little more than an hour, with the foot soldiers carrying Lady Godiva’s trunks. The entire party was completely soaked by the time they arrived at the convent. A nun greeted the party, and welcomed the ladies inside (the men, she insisted, would have to stay outside in the barn).

Before Crowley was in the service of Godiva, she had spent time in this convent, having heard rumors in certain hellish circles that those who dwelled therein partook in some rather questionable deeds. 

Curiously, the demon found that she could actually set foot inside the edifice without it burning her feet, which was odd for a convent. It was perhaps not built on consecrated ground, which perhaps would explain part of why hell was so interested in the place.

However, Crowley found that the rumors of what happened inside were vastly over exaggerated, and that some of the nuns simply…enjoyed the pleasures that one another’s bodies had to offer. It was a huge scandal to humans, of course, but for a temptation demon the whole thing seemed fairly innocuous. Crowley enjoyed her stay there nonetheless.

“Lady Crowley!” the Abbess exclaimed excitedly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“We seek refuge from the storm, Abbess. Lady Godiva here is on her way to be married to the Earl of Mercia.”

“I see,” the abbess said, eyeing Lady Godiva curiously. “But of course you may stay. The sisters will show you to some free quarters. I’m afraid we have already had supper, but I’ll have some bread, cheese and wine brought to you.”

Crowley and Godiva thanked the abbess, and followed a nun to some chambers, while three other nuns followed with the lady’s trunk. The room was smaller than what Godiva had slept in at her father’s house, but it was clean, warm, and cozy. There were two beds and fireplace, which was already alight. The trunk was placed near the bed with a loud thud, and the women who carried it went away. 

“Now then,” the remaining nun said, turning to Godiva. Let’s see if we can get you into some nice dry clothes. Do you think the dresses in your trunk will be wet?”

“I daresay they might be,” Crowley interjected. “Best let me tend to those garments, while you perhaps help the lady out of her wet clothes.” 

Both the nun and Godiva nodded at this, and Crowley busied herself with the trunk, while furtively watching the two with interested eyes. 

She could tell that Godiva found the nun attractive (though the convent robes were obstructing the view of the young woman’s figure). The nun’s face, her pert countenance and wide eyes that sparkled with something almost mischievous, were indeed enticing. Godiva’s breath hitched when she looked the nun in the eye, and the nun blushed. 

“Will you untie me?” Godiva asked, and the nun nodded, licking her lips absentmindedly as she went around to the lady’s back. She untied the laces of her girdle, as water dripped onto the floor, until the garment fell loose at Godiva’s sides. 

“Your dress seems heavy, my lady, shall I help lift it off of you?” the nun asked. Godiva nodded, and the two of them lifted the waterlogged garment off of Godiva, over her head, and exposing only a sopping wet linen shift underneath. The shift was transparent due to the water, and clung to Godiva’s curves, leaving little to the imagination. Her nipples were hard and very apparent—likely due to the cold, but perhaps something else as well. The nun let out a little gasp at the sight, and Crowley smiled rakishly, still pretending to fiddle with the trunk’s lock. 

Godiva turned to face the nun. “Thank you,” she said, “Perhaps..perhaps just a blanket, and I can sit by the fire?”

“Of course,” the nun replied. “I’ll…I’ll go and fetch one for you,” and with that she spun around and left the room quickly. 

“Well she was helpful, wasn’t she?” Crowley asked, opening the trunk at last to see that some water had indeed seeped in. It wasn’t enough to ruin or soak the garments, but it would take work to go through and dry them. Crowley rolled her eyes at the thought, and blew a gentle breath that left the interior completely dry.

“She was,” Godiva agreed, and she pulled up a stool close to the fire, wrapping her arms around her chest and letting her rain-drenched hair fall forward. 

The nun came back, and hesitated. “Should you not remove your shift, my lady?” 

“Oh,” Godiva replied, and she stood up and slid it off over her head, dropping it beside her in a wet pile. “Yes, I do suppose that is better.”

The nun nodded, trying not to gawk at the completely naked woman before her, but Crowley could tell that she was attracted to Godiva.

“Thank you,” Godiva said, as the nun placed the blanket around her shoulders. Godiva placed her hand on top of the woman’s and looked her into the eye. “What is your name?”

“Sister Mary,” she said quietly, her face growing red.

“Thank you Sister Mary,” Godiva said with a smile. The nun nodded, turned and left quickly. Godiva watched her go, and bit her lip thoughtfully. 

Crowley smiled. Her plan was coming to fruition. 

“Well, my dear,” Crowley said, “I think he had better have a little chat.”

…

Godiva and Crowley stayed up the whole night, discussing Godiva’s future and what it was that the lady really wanted. Finally, after several hours of temptations, and another visit from the pert nun, Godiva was convinced not to marry the Earl of Mercia, and instead stay at the convent, switching places with Crowley. 

“Will they have me?” Godiva asked.

“Of course, my dear. I’ll see to it.”

In the morning, Crowley spoke to the abbess and it did not take much to secure a place for Lady Godiva in the convent. The abbess was sympathetic to Godiva’s plight (having herself escaped an undesired marriage in her youth, she claimed) and it was soon settled. 

Godiva would remain with the nuns, and Crowley would take her place. 

Deceiving the escorts, and then getting the carriage unstuck from the mud, required several demonic interventions, but soon enough, Crowley was on her way to meet the Earl of Mercia as Lady Godiva. 

…

The road suddenly turned from dirt to cobblestone, and the horses hooves clacked loudly. Crowley awoke to the jolt and the noise, looking out the window to realize that they had now entered a village. Crowley was sure she had slept for the entire journey, and she stretched a little, her limbs stiff from the uncomfortable ride. 

Outside people gathered around and stared at the carriage, presumably trying to catch a glimpse of the lady inside. Crowley smiled, making sure her face was covered by a veil. After several minutes, there were shouts, and the carriage slowed to a halt before a modest castle with an open gate. Crowley remained inside, waiting as several rows of servants appeared, and before long, a small procession of squires and knights marched out beyond the gate, leading the way for who Crowley guessed was the Earl. 

Crowley’s assignment from Hell was mostly done. All that was left was to make some trouble as the new Lady Godiva by rousing the citizens to rise against the Earl of Mercia, who apparently was being guided by divine powers. Crowley wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to rouse the citizens, but then again, she was imaginative. 

The procession outside continued, as knights parted ways to open a path for the Earl of Mercia to approach the carriage. Crowley glanced up and upon seeing the Earl, her heart stopped, jaw dropped, and mind went blank. 

Aziraphale. The Earl of Mercia was Aziraphale. Wearing an ivory velvet doublet and a golden chain. His hair was uncovered, and the soft golden curls framed his face beautifully. He was a truly celestial vision.

A footman opened the door of the carriage, and Crowley took ahold of his hand to step out. Her gown, which she had conjured, was a black and red velvet, with billowing sleeves. The veil, which was red, kept her face covered, and Aziraphale was so far unaware of her true identity. 

“Presenting, the Lady Godiva,” a herald announced. “To Leofric, Earl of Mercia.”

“My Lady Godiva,” Aziraphale said. “You are most welcome to Coventry.”

“I thank you, my Lord Leofric,” Crowley purred demurely, and Crowley watched as Azriaphale’s eyes went from pleasant salutations, to recognition, to panic. He looked left and right quickly, but no one moved from their positions. He inhaled, exhaled, and blinked his eyes multiple times. 

“Ahh, yes, well, I am sure you must be tired from your journey. These ladies here,” he gestured to some maids standing nearby, “will see you to your..uh..chambers.” And with that, Aziraphale turned and walked briskly back into the castle. 

…

Crowley explored the bedchambers. They were very nice, an elaborate bed carved from wood, tapestries on the wall, a fireplace. Godiva’s trunk had been placed inside. Crowley opened the trunk, pulled out a boar’s bristle brush and silver hand mirror. She stared at her reflection, and brushed through her hair, making sure that all the knots were combed through. She probably would need to get it braided by a maid instead of miracle itself into a perfect coiffure, but then again, she planned on wearing a veil as often as she could, at least for the time being. 

There was a knock at the door, and a young maid entered. 

“My lady, the Lord Leofric wishes to see you, when you are ready.”

“Yes, I suppose he does,” Crowley replied, placing her veil back on her head. 

She followed the maid down the hallway and down the stairs, wending their way through the castle. 

“Don’t be frightened, my lady,” the maid reassured. “Lord Leofric is kind and he won’t…take advantage.” The maid said no more, but Crowley knew what she meant. “But if you’d prefer, I won’t leave you.”

They arrived at a door, which was closed, and the maid stopped. 

“That’s alright, my dear. I shall be fine,” Crowley replied, and the maid nodded before knocking.

“Come in,” Aziraphale said, and the maid opened the door, bowed slightly, and left. 

Crowley sauntered it, her face still covered. She stood as upright as she could (though her natural tendency to slouch was overwhelming) but she still wanted to play the part. She folded her hands demurely in front of her, and tilted her head to the side. 

“You…wanted to see me, my lord?” She asked. 

“Oh, y—would—you. Close the door, please!” Aziraphale stammered, clearly not fooled by Crowley’s disguise. Crowley obeyed, closing the door behind her, and taking one step inside. 

“Is there anything else, my lord?” Crowley asked, letting her voice dip low and velvety, still pretending to be Lady Godiva. 

“Crowley, would you sto—I know it’s you under there, you foul fiend.”

Crowley gasped, feigning shock. “Now, now, is that anyway to speak to your future bride?”

“My—bride—gah, Crowley, would you please take that thing off of your head.”

Crowley sighed, and slowly slid off the veil, revealing her yellow eyes, long red hair and devilish smile. She dropped it onto the floor, and began to sink into a more comfortable pose, placing a hand on a hip as she turned her head to side-eye the angel. 

“Couldn’t fool you then,” she said teasingly. 

“Crowley! What the devil are you doing here?”

Crowley laughed. “Good choice of words, Angel. He sent me here, the devil—or rather, Beelzebub did. Or maybe Dagon just delivered the wrong message. At any rate, Hell sent me here, obviously.”

“Well, of course they did,” Aziraphale scoffed, “but what is it you are meant to be doing?”

“Fomenting discord. Making trouble. You know, the usual. But the real question is,” Crowley took a step forward, and smiled, letting the corners of her eyes crinkle with mischief, “Were you actually planning to marry a human?”

Aziraphale’s face scrunched up, and he waved his hands. “Oh, of course not. I was meant to be guiding Godiva towards the light. I was going, hopefully, to convince her to join a convent.”

Crowley began to laugh, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, apparently heaven doesn’t know that Godiva is actually a demon,” Aziraphale said dismissively. 

Crowley’s laughter died down slightly, “Oh, Godiva isn’t a demon. I’ve taken her place.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened with concern. “And where is the lady, then?”

“She’s in a convent,” Crowley said matter-of-factly.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, then shut it again. His brow was furrowed, and he seemed genuinely confused. 

“So…both sides…wanted the same thing?” The angel said finally. 

“Seems like it,” Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale bit his lip, concerned, but said nothing. 

Crowley looked about the room, and spotted a jug of wine and a goblet. She ventured over to it, poured herself a glass, and took a couple of big gulps. Aziraphale watched her, but kept silent. 

“So tell me…how long are you going to be here?” Crowley asked, wiping the excess wine from her mouth.

“Well, Gabriel said they would relieve me of my duties eventually, though it has been a long while,” Aziraphale confessed. “Michael sent a couple of notes down, saying I wasn’t being thorough enough, and so I think I’m stuck here, I’m afraid.”

“And what are your duties?” Crowley asked, “other than not marrying Lady Godiva?”

“I’m to keep order, apparently, while I exact sums from the local inhabitants,” Aziraphale said, and he sat down upon one of the two chairs in the room, gesturing for Crowley to sit at the other. Crowley did. 

“Sums? You mean a tax?”

“Er, something like that,” Aziraphale admitted.

“But…why?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Crowley. My job is not to question why.”

Crowley frowned. 

“And what is it that you are meant to be doing?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m supposed to rouse the people of Coventry to fight against…you, actually.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale wasn’t alarmed, but he seemed very curious. 

“I think I’m probably supposed to cause a riot or something,” Crowley continued. “But, obviously, since it’s you, I’m sure we can figure something else out.”

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale said. “Figure…something else out?”

“Yeah, well, I mean, we can just, you know…not really do anything?”

It was the second time Crowley suggested such a thing, only now Aziraphale couldn’t run away into the mist. He was and Earl. 

“Not really do anything…Crowley! I cannot just disobey heaven’s orders, you know.”

“Wellll, couldn’t you?” Crowley asked, sinking languidly in the chair, and tilting her head as she looked into Aziraphale’s eyes. “It isn’t really disobeying, is it, if you just you know, make an arrangement not to do anything? I’m sure the humans will sort themselves out—they usually do.”

“No Crowley,” Aziraphale said decisively, standing up and turning his nose up in a haughty expression. “We cannot make an arrangement, even if this is inconvenient. You will have to just…say you’re going to join a convent, as Lady Godiva, and you can leave and do…whatever it is you do…and that will be that.”

Crowley studied Aziraphale, noting the turn of his nose, the way his brow was slightly raised, the slight pucker of his lips. 

“No,” Crowley replied.

“No?” Aziraphale repeated, a little dramatically. 

“No,” Crowley said again in staccato, looking down at her fingernails nonchalantly. “If you don’t agree to work with me on this, why should I do what you say? You want to do your job? Fine. Then I’ll do mine.”

Aziraphale scoffed, making his offense known, but Crowley didn’t look up. 

“Well, if that’s how you’re going to be,” Aziraphale said, and with that turned around and began to storm out of the room. 

“Oh, my Lord, before you go,” Crowley said and Aziraphale paused at the door. “We wed in two days.” 

Aziraphale said nothing, but left quickly. 

…

Two days had passed, and Crowley saw nothing of Aziraphale. She assumed the wedding was still on, however, based on the reactions of everyone around her. Maids brushed her hair, and asked her excitedly about her hopes for the wedding, the wedding night, the number of children they would have. 

The real Lady Godiva had been a widow, so the blushes of virginity were not appropriate at this time, but still there was much talk of how to behave on a wedding night. Several of the maids were curious about what to expect, so Crowley found herself giving lessons about the female and male anatomy, demonstrating on her hairbrush how things worked, and the young women all seemed to absorb the knowledge with interest. 

On the day of, one of the maids braided Crowley’s hair in an intricate pattern, smoothing the flyaway tendrils from around the nape of her neck, and placing a golden crown upon her head. 

“This is a gift from Lord Leofric,” the maid said. “It suits you…makes your eyes look almost golden.”

Crowley stared at herself in the polished silver hand mirror. She did look rather regal, her plaits twisted into a beautiful pattern, the gold glimmering over her brow. She opted to wear a luxurious, deep green damask dress—it was actually one of Godiva’s own, from her trunk. Godiva had planned to wear this dress on her wedding day, and Crowley felt that, if anyone were to describe the wedding to Godiva’s relatives, it ought to include some semblance of realism. 

“Perhaps…we ought to put this veil underneath the fillet?” The maid asked, holding up a very thin piece of fabric, with flowers embroidered onto it. 

“Well alright,” Crowley replied, and the maid fixed everything, placing the veil over Crowley’s hair and letting it fall over her face, and replacing the golden circlet over the top. 

“Beautiful,” the maid murmured. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” Crowley said, wondering if Aziraphale was actually going to go through with this. 

Crowley’s heart beat rather quickly at the thought. Of course, the demon assumed that there was no way Aziraphale actually would have feelings for Crowley, romantic, sexual, or otherwise. But Crowley, who had often thought of Aziraphale sexually (and perhaps a little bit romantically) found herself a little nervous. 

…

Getting married in a church was a problem for Crowley, and so with a little demonic intervention, the local church completely crumbled. No one was hurt, of course, but the roof was collapsed, and there was simply no space for the couple to wed on consecrated ground.

Shame, that.

The bishop, overseeing the ceremony, agreed that inside the main hall of the castle would be fine, and so it was there that Crowley was escorted, there that Crowley walked down a makeshift aisle between knights and ladies, and it was there that Aziraphale said ‘I do’ as he stared at the veiled face of Crowley, who then also uttered the same words. 

The kiss occurred, though it was really rather uneventful from Crowley’s perspective. Aziraphale lifted the veil and planted his lips swiftly on the corner of Crowley’s mouth—really, mostly on his cheek. Crowley couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but she did note with interest that Aziraphale was blushing crimson as he pulled away. 

The evening went on as anticipated—the wedding feast, toasts of cheer, lively music. 

But afterwards, there was the consummation.

This would be important, Crowley knew (and suspected that Aziraphale also knew). If Aziraphale was going to continue to play along with this ridiculous charade, they would have to—somehow—convince everyone that their wedding night had been eventful. And Crowley, though she would of course say yes to the angel had he actually wanted to go through with it, knew that the angel would never deign to have sex with a demon. 

Still, she might have a little fun in teasing. No harm in that, right? Besides, Aziraphale could have stopped this, could have agreed to some sort of arrangement, but no. He didn’t. 

And now they were married. 

…

Aziraphale and Crowley were pushed into the bedchambers by a couple of drunk courtiers and ladies. Aziraphale stumbled, and caught himself with a series of steps that brought him across the room. Crowley caught herself gracefully, and merely crossed her arms. 

The door slammed, and laugher rang outside the bedroom. 

“Well then, husband, how do you want me?” Crowley teasingly asked, her voice breathy, and she gently dragged a finger across her collar bone, bringing attention to her neck.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I am not your husband, you know?”

“But we said the vows,” Crowley replied.

“Yes, but you also said you were Godiva, which we both know is untrue, so technically….”

“Technically,” Crowley interrupted, “everyone thinks we are married, and if there isn’t some evidence of consummation, it will be a political nightmare.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, walked over to the bed, and tore the pillows and blankets awry. 

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” Crowley said, trying to mask that she was a little disappointed. 

Aziraphale moved over to a chair, and sat down, looking at the fire. Crowley sauntered to the bed, kicked off her shoes, and leaned back onto the pillows, staring at Aziraphale. 

“This is all rather awkward for me, you know,” Aziraphale said quietly after a little while, and he glanced over to Crowley. The fire in the hearth made his eyes twinkle, but Crowley could see that Aziraphale was anxious, and a little sad. “I just…I want to do the right thing.”

It suddenly no longer felt like a game, and Crowley felt a twinge in her heart. 

“Ahh, it’s fine Aziraphale, it’s just..I mean it doesn’t have to be awkward, alright? We are both just following orders. And we’ve had this happen before…”

“Not like this, Crowley. Never this…close.” Aziraphale’s lower lip quivered as he stared at Crowley, and the demon felt an urge to rush to the angel, wrap him in her arms, and kiss the quiver away. 

But she resisted, trying to ignore the prickling shivers working their way up her spine and the flutters that danced in her stomach.

“I’d say we were pretty close some of the time,” Crowley replied after clearing her throat. “Remember Petronius’ restaurant in Rome? When I had to act like your lover and usher you out of there before you became the next course in their sexual feast?”

Aziraphale shuddered at the memory. “I do. Thank you for that, it was…very kind of you.”

Crowley rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up would you?” Crowley replied as a reflex. She hated it when the angel called her kind, or nice, or good. Whatever Crowley did for Aziraphale, it couldn’t be…kind. Even if something about it did feel, well…good.

Aziraphale shot Crowley a look at being told to shut up, and Crowley rolled her eyes again. “Look, Aziraphale, why don’t we just leave? Let the humans sort themselves out, however they will, and then just take the credit.”

“I don’t want either of us getting into trouble,” the angel replied meekly. 

“We won’t” Crowley said resolutely.

“But—“

“We won’t!” Crowley interrupted with a little more gusto, pushing herself off of the pillows and leaning off the bed to look at Aziraphale more closely. “Heaven and Hell don’t actually care how things get done, so why do this? Why torture yourself?”

“It’s not..torture…Crowley,” Aziraphale replied. 

“Being married to me? Of course it is.” Crowley said, trying to get the angel to smile. 

It worked, the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth turning up ever so slightly. “Being married to you isn’t torture, my dear,” the angel said. 

This hit Crowley like an arrow through the heart. “I—uh—er,” was all she could manage to say in response. 

“I am sure you would make a perfectly wonderful spouse,” Aziraphale continued, but his smile slowly faded. “For someone.” He blinked and looked down at his feet.

Ah. Right. For someone—not for Aziraphale. He was an angel. Crowley was a demon. That didn’t mix. 

“Ah, well, not really the marrying type, anyways” Crowley finally said. 

“You’re not?” Aziraphale asked. “But certainly you must have had…dalliances.”

Crowley snorted. “Sure, I’ve had those.” Aziraphale sighed at this, and seemed a little put out. “But, I mean, only when hell demands it, and…er…I mean they are fun, but…it’s not, I mean…”

“Hell demands it?” Aziraphale repeated as a question, his eyebrow suddenly raised. 

“Well, sometimes…” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale’s face looked intently into Crowley’s, searching his eyes for something. Crowley couldn’t take the gaze, suddenly feeling very exposed, very…almost ashamed, so she glanced down. 

“That’s dreadful Crowley, I’m so sorry,” Crowley said nothing in response. What could she say? 

Aziraphale continued, “Have you ever…with someone…just for yourself?” the lacunae in Aziraphale’s question was easy for the demon to fill in. 

She shook her head no. “Not like there’s anyone to…I mean demons are all kind of…blech, and humans, I mean I have to with them sometimes, but they die and get scared of who I really am, and—” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale suddenly. “Hang on, have you?”

Aziraphale smiled and shook his head no, a little blush rising into his cheeks. “Heaven has never..er..demanded it of me, and I don’t suppose there really is anyone…well, that is, the angels are all…”

Aziraphale paused, clearly trying to think of the right words.

“Assholes?” Crowley offered, and Aziraphale tutted.

“Crowley!”

“What? They are. Except for you.”

Aziraphale looked away, his blush growing deeper, and he gave a happy little wiggle in the chair. The sight made the flutterings in Crowley’s stomach return, and she felt like she might be blushing herself. 

“Is there wine in here? Or ale? Or something…alcoholic?” Crowley asked, suddenly feeling the need to get very, very drunk.

“Uh…no, but I suppose I could go fetch us some.”

“Don’t bother,” Crowley said, and with a snap a large jug of something appeared on the table next to Aziraphale, with two goblets. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale said with surprise, and he licked his lips. “Is this…for both of us?”

“It is,” Crowley said, sliding off the bed and over to the table. She filled the goblets to the brim, and gingerly picked hers up, letting a few drops spill over, which she licked up. Aziraphale watched her with wide eyes, and then slid his own goblet closer to him. 

“Shall we toast?” Aziraphale asked, lifting the vessel up with both hands.

“To marriage?” Crowley suggested. 

Aziraphale let out a little chuckle. “To marriage.”

They clinked goblets, and wine spilled out over the edge, deep red droplets sliding over pewter and onto their hands. Both took long gulps—it was not the best wine, but it was certainly potable, and Crowley felt it warming her insides. 

“That’s better,” she said, and wandered back to the bed, sitting on the edge and leaning back on one hand. She took another sip thoughtfully, remembering the last time the two saw one another. It had been a long while—nearly 500 years, when they were wearing that incredibly heavy armor. 

“Have you traveled much since I saw you last?” Crowley asked, taking another mouthful of wine.

“A little, though never very far. I’ve been across the channel a few times, but mostly my assignments have been local. I have been playing the part of Leofric for…a couple of decades now, actually. I’d rather hoped that heaven would release me from this charge, but, alas. And you? Have you travelled much?”

“Went to Constantinople for a bit, and travelled a little farther east, but really, I too stayed around here. Not exactly sure why—it’s still very damp here.”

“It is,” Aziraphale agreed. Both sipped their wine, and Crowley drained her cup. 

“Say,” she said, waving the empty goblet. “Would you mind?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, lifting up the jug and bringing it over to Crowley. He sat on the bed next to the demon, and poured another goblet. “I daresay we may need another jug,” the angel said, filling up his own cup. 

“No problem,” Crowley said, and with a snap another jug appeared, this time on the floor next to the bed. 

“Won’t you get in trouble for all these frivolous summonings?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley laughed. 

“Frivolous? If they knew I was getting and angel drunk, they’d probably offer me a medal.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale quietly whispered, looking down at his feet.

“I don’t mean…it’s not…” Crowley stammered, but the alcohol was making the words even harder to vocalize than normal. “I’m teasing. I’m not…I’m not trying to get you—drunk or anything, it’s just…it’s fine. Summoning wine is always fine. It’s just not always going to be the best, you know?”

Aziraphale nodded but said nothing, sipping his wine and still looking down. 

“Is something wrong?” Crowley asked. 

“I’m just wondering how it should be that I am drinking with a demon.”

“We’ve drunk together before, you know.”

“Yes, but never…” Aziraphale looked up, his eyes seemed wetter than normal, and Crowley could see his chest was heaving with unsteady breath. Aziraphale then lifted his hand slowly, tentatively, and placed it on Crowley’s cheek. 

Crowley inhaled sharply at the touch, her heart stopping. Time felt like it stood still—had she actually made time stand still? It’s possible. 

She looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, pale and sad, even though his mouth was turned up into a soft smile. His whole presence seemed to glow, radiating small amounts of light that were soft and blue in contrast with the flickering, harsh-orange blaze in the fireplace. 

They stared at one another for what may as well have been an eternity, Crowley felt lost in the angel’s pale blue irises, daring not to look away, not to utter a sound, not to break the spell. She wanted to stay here, like this, with Aziraphale touching her so tenderly, for forever. 

But it was not meant to last. Aziraphale drew a deep breath, looked like he was going to say something, but then shook his head, looking back down at his feet, and removing his hand from Crowley’s cheek. 

Crowley exhaled, her heart suddenly tearing through her chest like it was going to explode. 

‘What. The fuck. Was that,’ she thought to herself when her wits returned. 

“I had…better go,” Aziraphale said, standing up, and taking a step towards the door. Crowley set her goblet down on the floor, and followed. 

“Aziraphale, wait,” she said, placing an arm on the angel’s shoulder. He paused and turned to face Crowley. His expression was pained, and Crowley wanted to make it better, make Aziraphale feel alright, but the words didn’t come. Suddenly, before she could stop herself, Crowley leaned in and met his lips with a kiss, feeling the intense flutters in her stomach boil over into the rest of her corporeal form. The kiss was soft and close-lipped at first, but just as Crowley was about to pull away, she felt a hand slide up the back of her head and pull her back in. A tongue suddenly slid over Crowley’s lips and she opened her mouth, allowing the angel to dip inside. 

With groans and teeth clashing together, the kisses became more frantic, more ravenous, the taste of angel mingling with the taste of wine, tongue massaging tongue, tooth grazing against lip, and Crowley swallowed the spit that suddenly filled her mouth.

It was delicious. It was surreal. Crowley had kissed so many humans before, but this—this was invoking something primordial, a wet, hot union that melded together like God herself had built them to do this. 

Aziraphale moaned in the back of his throat, pulling Crowley in against his body for a brief second, but suddenly his tongue stopped, and after a beat he pulled himself off of Crowley, taking a step back. 

His eyes widened with panic. “I—I can’t, we—Crowley, it’s— I must go.” And with that he turned and left the room with great haste. 

Crowley, dumfounded, sat back down on the bed. Her heart was still racing in her chest, and she decided to drink the rest of the wine straight from the jug.

…

In the weeks and months that followed, Crowley had tried to confront Aziraphale, but the angel saw to it that the two of them were never alone. They would dine together, in public, and Aziraphale would make polite conversation, but that was the extent of their contact. Crowley tried some rather creative ways to corner the angel, force him to say something, but Aziraphale always wriggled away. He would come up with a reason to leave Coventry, for weeks sometimes, and Crowley was alone, and bitter.

During this time, Crowley (as Godiva) got to know the people of the village, the farmers and smiths, the people who worked in the castle, and they all seemed to like the Lady. Crowley was often veiled, trying to cover her eyes, though she found the villagers said very little about them. She supposed this was because of her gossipy maid, who believed the yellow hue and slitted pupil were the result of a childhood fever (thanks to some creative storytelling on Crowley’s part). 

Months finally turned into a year, and on their anniversary Crowley made it a point to get into Aziraphale’s bedchamber (bribing a footman in the process), so that they could finally talk. 

Aziraphale, upon opening the door and seeing Crowley standing by the fireplace nearly turned and nearly ran, but Crowley flew over to him and grabbed his arm. 

“Aziraphale, this is ridiculous, you have to speak to me. It’s been a year, and people are starting to talk.”

This was true. Whispers were beginning to spread that the Lord was not pleased with his Lady, and rumors about the Lord’s sexual inclinations were going to get Aziraphale into trouble. The church, after all, looked down on those kinds of relations in this age. 

“Oh…very well,” Aziraphale said, and he stepped inside, keeping his head held high. Crowley dropped her hand and stepped back. 

“Look,” Crowley started, “what happened was…” Aziraphale interrupted by holding up his hand to stop Crowley. 

“We mustn’t speak of it,” Azirapahle said. 

Crowley felt a little hurt, but mainly irritated. “Mustn’t speak of it? But didn’t you…I mean I thought you…” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, looking like he was about to smite Crowley. The demon stopped, and sighed. “Fine. Aziraphale. Whatever. But…we do have to do…something.”

“You could leave,” Aziraphale suggested dryly. 

Crowley snorted. “And get myself in trouble with the dukes of Hell because I let heaven take over? I don’t think so, Aziraphale, not unless you’re leaving as well.”

“Well, I’m not leaving, Crowley. My work is not done..apparently.”

“Your work…” what was it again? Crowley had nearly forgotten. Oh right…taxes. “Over-taxing the good people of Coventry for some reason that you don’t even fully understand. Good job there heaven, well done.”

Aziraphale said nothing in response, but held his haughty countenance. 

“Alright, Aziraphale, I’m going to suggest this one last time. We both leave. Or we both come to some kind of deal. Clearly, us being here together isn’t working out, so we have to come to some sort of…arrangement.”

“I am an angel. I could never come to an arrangement with a demon.” Aziraphale spat, though he did look a little like he regretted it as soon as he said it, and he turned away from Crowley.

The words stung the demon and she felt anger build inside of her. “Fine. Fine. Have it your way, then. Guess I’ll do some fomenting then. Angel.” The last word came out bitterly, and Crowley stormed out, the train of her black gown trailing after her like a serpent’s tail.

…

Discord. Riots. Chaos. Rebellion. This was what Crowley had in mind to spread. 

She began to meet more with the villagers, learning their names, and gaining their trust over the coming weeks. Little by little she heard of their complaints—most of which had to do with the overbearing taxes that Aziraphale (as Lord Leofric) was levying upon them. 

But the villagers were overall not violent people. Crowley would whisper temptations in their ears, but all of them eschewed the suggestions of riots or rising up with pitchforks. 

Crowley suspected that this was because of Aziraphale himself, his essence, his overall kindness. People loved him (even though his taxes were harsh) in part because he did take care of them, visiting the sick, ensuring that people had food when they needed it; but in part because he simply exuded goodness.

Crowley was thus completely unsure of how to provoke a riot and spread foment.

During one of their meals in the great hall, Crowley decided to bring up the matter of taxation to Aziraphale. The angel had refused to talk to Crowley one-on-one, so this semi-public setting—surrounded by the knights and ladies and servants would have to do.

“My Lord,” Crowley said, “I feel I must implore you, on behalf of the people of Coventry, to lift the taxes.”

At this, Aziraphale almost choked on his food, grasping at the tankard before him and brought it to his lips to wet his mouth and clear this throat. Crowley smiled at the impact her words had clearly made.

There were several murmurs around the hall—everyone seemed rather shocked that the Lady had brought up so serious a matter in so public a place. It seemed to undermine the Lord’s authority. 

Once Aziraphale’s throat was cleared, he spoke, “I am afraid there is nothing that can be done. These taxes were ordered by…a higher authority,” he said resolutely. 

“But the higher authority doesn’t see that the people of the village are working themselves to death in order to pay your toll,” Crowley retorted. There were a few stifled gasps around the table, and Aziraphale glanced around the room before quickly looking at Crowley. There was something almost helpless in his eyes. He knew, Crowley realized, that the taxes were unfair, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s an angel—he has to obey.

“Isn’t there…some way I can persuade you?” Crowley asked gently.

“Unless everyone was parading naked in the streets, I don’t see how my superiors would change their minds,” Aziraphale said resolutely. 

Aziraphale was of course speaking rhetorically, but Crowley smiled to herself. ‘Very well then,’ she thought, and began to scheme. 

…

It took two weeks for Crowley to devise her plan. At first, she tried to tempt the villagers to run around naked themselves, spreading around what Aziraphale (as the Earl) had said at dinner. And while she was certain a few were secretly interested, her temptations and wiles were ultimately avoided and ignored.

None of the villagers, it seemed, were willing to parade naked in the streets, much to Crowley’s disappointment. 

So Crowley decided to take matters into her own hands, and made a plan to ride on horseback through the streets alone…and completely naked. 

Maybe it would only result in getting Aziraphale irritated with her (or turned on? She hoped, but doubted it). Maybe he would lower the taxes. Maybe the shock of it all would cause riots. Whatever the outcome, it seemed like the best plan. 

…

“My dear,” she announced loudly during a meal. “If you do not lower taxes tomorrow, I am sure you are going to regret it come the following day.” 

Aziraphale looked at her with his brow furrowed. “Is that a threat, Lady…Godiva?” Aziraphale asked. 

“No one will get hurt, husband,” she replied, and his eyes seemed to relax at this. “But I am sure you will regret it.” Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing in response. 

When, on the following day, Aziraphale did not lower the taxes, Crowley set her plan in motion. In the evening, she ordered her maid to tell the villagers what was to happen the following morning, and ensure that everyone would stay indoors and not peep out until midday, when Crowley (as Godiva) was done parading naked through the streets, as a way to at least have a pretense of contemporary human modesty.

That night, while Crowley was in her bed, Aziraphale entered her room unexpectedly. 

“Crowley, I demand you tell me your scheme.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Only if you agree to work with me,” she retorted. 

Aziraphale huffed. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Well then, I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale sat on the foot of her bed and sighed. “I beseech you Crowley…don’t get in the way of heaven’s plans.”

Crowley scoffed. “And what’ll you do to stop me? Lecture me to death? Throw holy water at me?”

Aziraphale looked horrified. “No! I would never!”

“Well then,” Crowley replied, “I suppose there’s nothing more to say,” and she turned over and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

Aziraphale sighed, and lingered for a few more minutes, before getting irritated. Crowley could hear him mumbling under his breath, and his breathing was becoming heavy.

“Insufferable demon,” he said at last with a huff before leaving the room. 

Crowley smiled. 

…

Crowley arose a little after dawn, and went to the stables to get a horse. She selected a black one with sleek fur. It suited her, she thought, and she fancied that she would look rather majestic riding it while in the nude. She then rode to the opposite end of town, just beyond the cobblestone road. Her plan was to ride through the center, ending up at the castle.

Crowley left a note for Aziraphale, explaining her plan, and told the maid to give it to him after he ate breakfast.

When Crowley reached the opposite end of town, she dismounted from the horse. She slowly untied the lacings of her black cloak, the only article of clothing that she wore, letting it pool at her feet after it slipped from her shoulders. The air was cool, and she shivered as her skin turned to gooseflesh and her nipples grew hard. Her hair cascaded down her back in long red waves, and she looked down, inspecting her body. 

Her breasts were small, and the tuft of deep ruddy hair between her legs stood out against her pale skin. She smiled, fancying that she did look rather fetching in the nude with her current body. ‘Perhaps I should run around naked with a cunt more often,’ she thought. 

The horse whinnied, and she stroked its mane before mounting it, and realizing that her naked buttocks was probably going to feel very uncomfortable at the end of this.

“Oh well,” she said aloud, almost regretting the decision as she though about this discomfort. “It’s too late to go back now.”

She clicked her tongue and the horse slowly moved forward. As hooves hit the cobblestone streets with a clip-clop, Crowley sat upright, sticking her chest out and throwing her hair back, feeling confident in her decision (even if it was cold and her bottom was already beginning to feel a little uncomfortable).

She calculated that at the slow pace, it would take roughly a half-hour to reach the castle, which should (if she timed it right) be just after Aziraphale finishes his breakfast and receives the note. She looked out, seeing that all the windows were shut. No one was on the streets—it seemed almost as though no one lived there. 

At one point, about halfway through her ride, she noticed movement in a window. It was the cobbler Tom’s house. She could see that he was watching from behind a rather large slit in the window. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Crowley said, and suddenly unleashed her snakelike demonic form, staring at the peeping man. She heard him scream and watched as a shadowy figure fell over with a thud loud enough for her to hear on the street below. 

“Well that was fun,” she said smiling, and kept the horse at its pace. 

When she approached the castle, she saw no one. “I do hope the maid did her job,” she hissed under her breath, wondering if she was going to have to just wait there in the cold morning air, her buttocks chafed from the ride, until Aziraphale came out and noticed her. She rolled her eyes at the thought, but she would wait if she had to.

Just then, however, she heard movement from behind the walls, and a lone figure appeared, shining brilliantly in the morning light. It was Aziraphale, of course, and Crowley raised her eyebrow. 

When she was close enough to see the frown on his face, she decided to speak first. 

“Well…hussssband,” she hissed tauntingly. “You did sssay that your superiors would lower taxes if everyone were naked in the streetssss.” 

‘He’s angry,’ she thought to herself triumphantly. ‘Even if he doesn’t lock me up, at least I’ve gotten under his skin.’

Aziraphale’s nostrils flared at this, but his eyes kept their blank stare. “I did,” he replied cooly. “Though as of now I only see one foolish individual desperate enough to do it.”

Crowley laughed, and dismounted gracefully from the horse, her long leg swinging around and slowly sliding down. She then slowly sauntered up to Aziraphale, letting her hips sway with each step. Crowley never broke eye-contact with Aziraphale, whose nostrils still flared and whose jaw clenched, but otherwise there was no expression other than what appeared to be a deep anger. 

“Foolish I may be,” Crowley said as stopping when she stood face-to-face with Aziraphale, “But I am also a demon. And…your wife.” She bit her lower lip, daring Aziraphale to fight back, trying to get him angry, trying to get him have... some reaction.

Aziraphale swallowed, and looked Crowley’s body briefly, his eyes then meeting Crowley’s gaze with a cold stare. He then, without warning, grabbed Crowley by the wrist and roughly led her towards the castle. Crowley assumed it was so that the angel could lock her up, and was surprised when they took a turn towards and went to a small room next to the stable.

Aziraphale threw open the door, dragged Crowley inside with him, and shut it with a slam. Crowley stumbled her way in, and turned so that her back was to the table in the center of the room.

Aziraphale turned and looked at Crowley, whose mouth was ajar with utter shock and confusion. They stared at one another, until Aziraphale lunged at the demon, who tried to sidestep the lunge, but the angel grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her roughly, hungrily, his tongue and teeth working against Crowley’s lips, begging for entrance. 

Crowley was stunned for an instance, unable to move, completely blinded by the kiss. Slowly, when her senses returned, she felt the angel ravenously working at her lips, his hands pressing into her back. She moaned, and opened her mouth, letting Aziraphale’s tongue slide in, wet and hot. Her hands flew up to Aziraphale’s neck, and a hand slowly worked its way into his curls. 

Aziraphale bit Crowley’s bottom lip, and Crowley yelped. With a groan Aziraphale pulled away, moving his way to Crowley’s jaw, licking and nipping his way down to Crowley’s neck, and sucking right at the pulse, until the demon’s skin turned red.

Crowley moaned, throwing her head back to give Aziraphale greater access. She felt warm, wet desire building, and she arched herself into Aziraphale, who kept at her neck while one hand trailed down to her hip. He slid a thigh in between her legs, and pressed it up against her mound. Crowley ground into the thigh, gyrating her hips as she tilted her pelvis, angling to rub herself against the angel in just the right way, moaning as she left a wet spot on his stockings. 

Aziraphale released his lips from her neck, bringing their foreheads together as they panted. He held his grip on Crowley’s hip, squeezing as she continued grinding against his thigh, letting her pleasure build up.

Crowley opened her eyes and saw that Aziraphale was looking at her, his eyes dark with lust, and the sight made her gasp. He removed his thigh from between her legs, and took a step back, slowly unhooking the belt that sat against his hips. It fell to the floor with a clang. He stepped forward, kissing Crowley on the mouth and moving his hands down to her buttocks, eventually hoisting her up by her ass until she sat on the table. 

Aziraphale then kissed and licked Crowley’s breasts, gently gliding his teeth across one of her nipples. One hand worked its way up her thigh, and his thumb lightly grazed over her clit. She bucked, feeling the intense pleasure, and yearning for more. He repeated the motion, only this time leaving the digit in place, drawing small circles around her clit with the pad of his thumb 

“Ohh yesss,” She hissed, her hips swerving. Aziraphale moaned, his lips still pressed against her breast. Then, he slowly kissed his way down her abdomen, until his mouth was positioned just above the place his thumb was massaging. He slid his tongue out, and let it flick across her clit, while his hand wandered further down her slit so that he could slowly slide a finger inside, and then another.

Crowley gasped, looking down at the head of blonde curls that was now situated between her legs. She felt his tongue work deftly around her vulva, lapping at the labia, the clit, tasting her wetness. His fingers slid in and out of her with a steady pace. 

When he curved his fingers and found the nub of pleasure inside of her, she moaned, feeling a surge of hot wetness flow out of her. Aziraphale moaned in response, his lips vibrating against her, while his free hand moved down to his groin. 

Pleasure built up, and Crowley felt like she was going to come soon. Her hips began to gyrate and her moans became louder and more insistent. Just when Aziraphale was just about to bring her to the edge, he slid his fingers out, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Crowley whimpered, but before she could say anything, Aziraphale met her lips with his, and she could taste herself in his mouth. One hand went around her back, while another fumbled with his stockings and tunic, until suddenly Crowley could feel his cock pressing against her entrance.

She moved one hand to the erection, and Aziraphale gasped. She pumped a few times, feeling it’s girth and length, before she guided it to her entrance, and wrapped her legs around him. She tilted her hips up and beckoned him to enter. He slid into her with a breathy groan, his eyes shut tightly and his mouth ajar. Crowley gasped as she felt him stretch her, gliding inside of her with slick ease. 

Aziraphale pulled back and thrust in again, his breath heavy. He blinked his eyes open and looked down at Crowley. His eyes were no longer icy, but warm and adoring. Crowley reclined back onto the table, arching her hips so that Aziraphale would have easier access.

He began to thrust with more vigor, his hands clutching Crowley’s thighs. Crowley moved a hand down, and began to rub herself, but Aziraphale batted her hand away, and removing one hand from her thigh, and then massaged her clit with his fingers. 

Crowley, who had already been right at the precipice of an orgasm, felt the pleasure once again reach the plateau.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she moaned, and Aziraphale quickened his pace, thrusting in her harder, and rubbing her faster. She moaned, and moaned again, begging for Aziraphale not to stop, telling him how good it felt, and soon Aziraphale’s cock and finger drew out of her an intense orgasm. She felt herself tighten around Aziraphale’s shaft, and his fingers rubbed her clit with a vigor, as she thrashed and she yelped. Wave after wave of white-hot pleasure rushed over her, and she felt as though time was standing still. 

“Oh…fuck,” she heard Aziraphale moan, as his own thrusts became harder. When the last shiver of her orgasm died down, Aziraphale removed his hand from her clit, and grabbed her thigh again, anchoring her as he pumped in her faster and faster. 

When he came, his mouth was open and his head was tilted upward, but his eyes looked down at Crowley. She felt his cum fill her as he thrust deeply, moaning her name as he came. 

When Aziraphale had finished, he sighed, slid out of Crowley, and placed his hands on the table, on either side of her, slumping his head down. 

Crowley sat up, adjusting their position so that she could welcome Aziraphale’s head into her bosom, and she combed her fingers in his hair. He, in turn, wrapped his arms around her and she could feel him breathing heavily as he nuzzled against her breasts. 

They stayed like this for some time, listening to the other breathing, feeling the other’s body. Eventually, Aziraphale straightened up, and looked at Crowley, bringing a hand gently to her face. He was smiling, but there was something mournful in his countenance, and Crowley saw that his eyes were wet.

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he whispered softly. 

“Sorry? For what? That was the best fuck of my life,” Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale chuckled. “Yes, well, for me too, rather,” he said awkwardly. “No, I mean how I’ve been treating you. Ignoring you. It’s not that…it’s not that I wanted to,” he bit his lip. 

“Oh?” Crowley said, intrigued. “Then…why?”

“Because I was…am…afraid of what will happen…to us. If heaven or hell finds out—“

“They won’t.”

“But what if they do? Crowley it…it’s too dangerous.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly, touching his cheek. She wanted to comfort him, wanted him not to run away, and wanted them to be like this…forever…but she knew that he was right. Whatever happened now, they had to be cautious. 

She cleared her throat, and continued more firmly. “Aziraphale, we have to come up with some kind of arrangement. This…we can’t go on like this forever…and I’m pretty sure there if we work together, we’ll come up with something.”

“Work…together?” Aziraphale asked almost hopefully.

“You’re very clever, and I’m…well I’ve got a great imagination. I’m sure we can come up with something.”

“I…I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale said, moving to sit next to Crowley on the table. “Do you have any suggestions.”

“Yes,” Crowley replied. “Several.”

The two of them discussed their scheme, and decided that the plan was for Aziraphale to announce that he was lowering his taxes. Crowley would be able to tell Hell that he was able to thwart heaven’s attempt at getting money from the people of Coventry, and Aziraphale would tell heaven that by eliminating taxes, he was able to thwart hell’s attempt at getting the people to rise up. 

But after that…well…they both supposed they would both be asked to leave Coventry, let the people of the town think the Earl and Lady were traveling for official business, and that would be that. 

After coming to the realization that they would soon be parted again, Aziraphale lifted his hand to Crowley’s chin, gently turning her to face him, and with a sad smile he said, “I’m not sure when we will see one another again. I’ll miss you, my dear.”

Crowley squirmed uncomfortably, trying to look away, but there was something hypnotic about Aziraphale’s gaze, so she finally just gave in. “I…s’pose I’ll…” she swallowed, and whispered, “missyoutoo.” The words came out quickly.

Aziraphale kissed her gently. “You are my wife after all,” he said softly, and Crowley couldn’t help but feel as though he was sincere. 

“Spouse,” Crowley corrected. 

“Spouse?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Yeah, well…I’m not always a woman, you know.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “Yes, my dear, I do know. So does this mean that…even when you are no longer Lady Godiva you’ll…want to be with me?” Aziraphale’s eyes were bright and hopeful. 

“I…er…ngk…I mean…if…you want?”

Aziraphale smiled, and they kissed again.

…

Crowley pulls up to the bookshop, the Queen song having finished. He parks the car, taking the flowers, and rushes up the steps, opening the door.

“Aziraphale!” he calls out, and the angel putters out from behind a shelf. He’s wearing his little glasses, holding a book. Crowley grins.

“Happy anniversary, Aziraphale,” Crowley says, handing the flowers to the angel and giving him a peck on the cheek. 

Aziraphale chuckles, and takes the flowers. “What’s it been…950 years?”

Crowley scoffs, pretending like he’s offended that Aziraphale forgot the exact number. “970! Honestly last year it was 969, how could you forget?”

“Oh, how foolish of me” Aziraphale replies with a smile. “But you know, you are early. Our dinner reservation isn’t for another 3 hours!”

“Well,” Crowley says, sidling up to Aziraphale. “I was rather hoping we might amuse ourselves before then.”

“But my dear, the shop—“

“Is completely empty, so, just flip the sign to closed, and come to bed. Come on…I know you want to…”

“Oh…very well,” Aziraphale sighs, giving up. He walks to the door, flips the sign, and locks it, before returning to Crowley. His lips are pursed, and he has a haughty expression on his face. Crowley attempts to kiss him, and slide his hands around him, but the angel primly looks away. 

“If you’re going to tempt me into bed and risk us losing our reservations, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Crowley smiles at the challenge. “Alright then,” he says, and slowly begins to undress—removing his coat first, then waist coat. He walks to the back of the bookshop and towards the stairs leading up to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt and looking seductively at Aziraphale. Once the shirt is fully unbuttoned, he slips it from his shoulders, and smiles as Aziraphale looks at him with wide eyes, and absentmindedly licks his lips. 

Crowley slides a hand down his chest, his abdomen, and rests it on his groin. 

“Come on now, Aziraphale. I know you want to see what kind of an effort I’ve made…” he slides his hand around his crotch slowly, “…down here. You should come and take a look.”

Aziraphale huffs, his eyes wide. He places the flowers and book down roughly on a table. 

“You wily demon,” he admonishes, and rushes towards Crowley, who laughs and begins to run up the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've been slowly writing this for a while, and it's my first time writing F/F, so I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
